


This isn't what I signed up for.

by orangina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Uber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:41:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangina/pseuds/orangina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is an Über driver. Mario is drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This isn't what I signed up for.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bayerngirl19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bayerngirl19/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Isabella!!
> 
> I know you're still in the hospital and that's a crappy place to spend your birthday. But I really hope you're feeling better than you have been because you deserve to smile and to feel happy. This is the least I can, so please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. I hope you like it. Love ya ♡
> 
> And to everyone else: I'm a bit terrified to post this because I've only really dabbled in Götzeus as an extremely minor side-pairing before. So, I hope I did them some justice despite the context of this fic :D

“I see you.”

As soon as Marco looked across the street and saw someone waving at him, he hung up. It took him about half a second to realize that it wasn’t just that one person, but a whole group of them, and at least two of them had begun to haul a third person across the street and into Marco’s car.

“Sorry, thank you,” the boy who’d requested the ride said with a grimace as he stuffed a bill into Marco’s hand. Then he turned on his heel to rejoin the rest of his group as quickly as he could.

Marco sighed before he even had looked around to evaluate the condition of the young man in the backseat of his car. It was rare for him to receive a tip, and never before had he received a tip in actual cash _before_ he’d even reached the destination. So this must’ve been a pretty unfortunate situation.

As an Über driver, Marco Reus didn’t face much adversity. The most challenging part of his part-time job, in fact, was having to endure sitting on his ass without stretching for hours on end. Most of his customers posed no trouble, minus the occasional tipsy one for whom Marco always kept a couple empty plastic grocery bags in his glove compartment just in case.

He reached into the glove compartment, yanked out a bag and tossed it behind him. “Please use it,” he emphasized.

No response. Marco shrugged.

As he pulled away, his GPS kicked into action and announced that the expected arrival time was in 9 minutes. That was more than enough time for his customer to puke all over the backseat, but it also meant that if Marco hauled ass he could avoid such a tragedy.

******

first minute:

It’s quiet. The only sounds to be heard are those coming from the various bars and clubs as Marco weaves in and out of the city’s traffic.

 

second minute:

Marco’s customer shuffles around in the backseat, and Marco wonders if he’s sitting up or laying across both seats.

 

third minute:

The GPS instructs Marco to make a right turn far later than expected, so he’s forced to break a little harder than he would’ve liked given the condition of his customer. Fortunately, all that is emitted from the customer’s mouth is a small moan and nothing else.

 

fourth minute:

Nothing much happens.

 

fifth minute:

Nearly half of the ride is gone, but nine minutes feels like a really long time when you’re holding your breath for every second of it. How much time is left now? Four minutes? Five minutes? Enough time for one song. If Marco were to put on a song, then all he would need to do was get through that song and he would nearly be there.

“Mind if I put on some music?” he tries again to cajole a response out of his customer.

“Not too loud.”

The response comes out as more of a gurgle. So be it.

Marco unlocks his phone and thumbs through his songs, selecting the first one he finds that is approximately four minutes long.

 

sixth minute:

_“Make up your mind,_  
_Let me live or let me love you,_  
_While you’ve been saving your neck,_  
_I’ve been breaking mine for you”_

 

seventh minute:

Marco almost groans at his own selection. He’s not into irony and coincidence and all that, and he’s definitely not his customer’s hero. All that was supposed to happen was that he gave this man a ride home and never saw him again.

Against his own will, Marco begins to wonder why strangers don’t mean anything to one another, and then he supposes that since he and this man have now been in the car together for six minutes that they are no longer strangers. Or at least they are less strangers to one another than some people are to each other. Not acquaintances, but put it this way: if Marco had to choose between saving this customer and another person he’d never seen before, he’d choose this customer. Tribalism.

Marco decides that it’s more of a scale than an either-or kind of thing.

 

eighth minute:

One more minute left. Or is it two? It’s two, because the song isn’t ending yet.

 

ninth minute:

The song is now beginning to end, and Marco turns onto a residential street with old apartments. He waits until his GPS tells him to stop. Except now, he’s beginning to dread that moment because then what happens?

******

Here’s what happened:

Marco stopped.

“Alright,” he said quite loudly, drumming his fingers across the steering wheel. “Take care.”

“I can’t even move, man,” the customer slurred.

It was pretty clear that he had zero intention of moving, and the first thing that crossed Marco’s mind when he pulled on his own door handle was that this was definitely not included in the job description.

Marco opened the door to the backseat and found his customer slumped over awkwardly. He reached in and, as delicately as he could to avoid any sudden projectile vomiting, placed his hands around his customer’s underarms and tried to pull him out.

“Oh, please,” the customer moaned.

“Just take it easy,” Marco growled. He was starting to lose his patience because really? All that he was doing and this guy couldn’t even get up and cooperate. “What’s your name?” he proceeded to ask as an attempt to get his customer to focus on something other than making his life difficult.

“Mario.”

“Why’d you drink so much? You’re drunk.” _No shit._

Miraculously, Marco somehow managed to drag Mario out of the car. As soon as he was out and the door shut, Mario collapsed against it, took in a few shuddering breaths, and then vomited all over the street.

“There ya go,” Marco said, rubbing his back affectionately.

(He felt much less contemptuous towards the man, taking the fact that he had waited to empty his stomach till he was outside the car as a personal compliment).

“I’m not even that drunk,” Mario said as he wiped his mouth.

Marco twisted off the cap of a water bottle and handed it to Mario. “What are you then?”

“Miserable.” Mario took the bottle and dumped it onto his shirt, missing his mouth completely, and throughout this whole debacle, Marco was beginning to notice that Mario was actually very attractive. Had it not been so dark, Marco might’ve even argued that he was hot - in a cute-ish sort of way. He looked exactly like the sort of guy who would have his heart broken.

Marco shook his head slowly. He reminded himself that he was an Über driver, not a counselor. “Well. Do you want me to take you inside? Or do you think you can make it in on your own?”

“Come with me,” Mario begged, so Marco nodded, wrapped his arm around the other man and guided him to the door.

Marco didn’t understand. How did people have the guts to hurt each other like this? Even if that person meant absolutely nothing to them or even if it hadn’t happened on purpose, how could they just _not care_?

Or maybe they did and they’re just really good at hiding it. Or maybe, this was all just a false assumption that was made because intentions don’t always line up with actions.

They got to the door and that was when Mario practically fell into Marco, sobbing directly into his chest. Marco didn’t know what to do other than hug him and pat his head.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he promised.

He wished he could stay with Mario, wait until he sobered up and calmed down and demanded to know why there was a random blond man hanging out in his apartment, and then Marco would’ve explained and maybe he could boil some tea while he listened to Mario spill his heart out.

But that’s not what strangers do.

Marco let go and had to push Mario away a little bit to get him off. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said again.

Mario shrugged and nearly toppled over from the exertion of the gesture. “Where’s my key?” he mumbled.

“In your pocket?”

“Might be.”

At the suggestion, Marco had a minor panic attack. What if his customer couldn’t find the key and couldn’t get in? He would be stuck out here all night and if Marco stayed he would be stuck out here with him. If he left now, before it was confirmed that the key was indeed missing, he could avoid the guilt. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“Hey, I gotta get back to work. Promise me you’ll look after yourself, alright?” Marco said in a great rush, his heart beating hard.

“Sure,” the customer said feebly.

It made Marco feel better, but only slightly. He squeezed Mario’s shoulder before heading back down the walk. _He’ll be fine,_ he promised himself.

“Thanks for the ride.”

He almost didn’t catch it because the customer’s speech was still sloppy and overly emotional.

Marco backpedaled. “Hey, that’s my job,” he replied after a moment, and then he climbed into his car and sped off.

Less than two minutes later, he got a request for a new ride.


End file.
